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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23520775">Two Steps Back</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ticktockclockwork/pseuds/ticktockclockwork'>ticktockclockwork</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Graphic Description of Corpses, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Idk theres dead peoples, M/M, but not our bois</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 14:15:04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,207</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23520775</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ticktockclockwork/pseuds/ticktockclockwork</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>There are some days when he comes too late, some days where he can save no one. Where the monster wins and the heroes fall and all that’s left behind is the rotting remains of a thriving town. No amount of magic or mutations can save the day and all he’s given for his troubles is blood on his hands and a heaviness in his heart. He will be blamed for this. He knows that. He will be blamed for this by the world but most of all by himself and eventually that burden will be too heavy, even for him to carry.</p>
<p>Some days the monsters win.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>156</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Two Steps Back</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>There are some days when he comes too late, some days where he can save no one. Where the monster wins and the heroes fall and all that’s left behind is the rotting remains of a thriving town. No amount of magic or mutations can save the day and all he’s given for his troubles is blood on his hands and a heaviness in his heart. He will be blamed for this. He knows that. He will be blamed for this by the world but most of all by himself and eventually that burden will be too heavy, even for him to carry.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier is with him this time and he bears the reality of this existence right alongside him. They’d raced for three days to get here before the vampire nest came through, but they’d caught the clues too late and had come after they’d already left. He’s never seen so much blood, or so many flies. He thinks this is what Cintra must have looked like, if all the stories were true. Blood soaked floors, bodies dismembered, too many pieces, surely, for the populace of this town.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He cannot look at the children, though he follows Geralt around to them all. Their small faces, contorted in horror and pale as snow burn themselves into his memory and he has to stop looking or else he’ll be sick. He always knew that travelling with Geralt was dangerous but he never thought that they’d lose the fight. He never thought they’d be too late for the fight to even begin.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s continuing down the road to the next house when he realizes he’s by himself. He looks back to call for the other then sees that Geralt has stopped and sat down on the front steps of the house they just inspected. The family had been killed in their beds. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Geralt?” He asks, gently, unsure why they’ve stopped. When the man doesn’t look up at him Jaskier takes a gentle step closer and sits next to him. He doesn’t know what to say, has no words or songs to fix this and he wonders if perhaps some things just can’t be fixed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Please don’t touch me.” Geralt grunts out when Jaskier lifts his hand to set it on his shoulder. He withdraws it immediately, looking away and swallowing hard. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This wasn’t your fault.” He says instead, earnest in his belief that there was truly nothing they could do. “We got here as fast as we could.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not fast enough.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier can’t argue that and knows he shouldn’t. Geralt doesn’t just feel guilty. He feels grief. He sees all the lives he was supposed to protect strewn about the streets like scraps for the dogs. He sees failure and heartache and the loss of human life. He swore to protect these people and despite the world constantly trying to beat him down, he holds human life precious. And so many of it in this town has been lost. Jaskier knows that perhaps some of what he feels is guilt, but he’s sure even more of it is simply grief. There was nothing he could have done to save this village and that powerlessness is profound. “No.” Jaskier finally agrees, making himself look at the carnage around them. “Not fast enough.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They spend the afternoon doing what they can which ends up being burying the dead. It’s the dead of summer and the bodies are already starting to smell foul so they work as quickly as they can to take care of the town. Geralt spends the afternoon finding a section of the local graveyard that looks predominantly untilled and digs a pit large enough to hold the villagers. Jaskier, unable to stomach the sight of the massacred bodies, is sent around to collect linens and cloths to wrap them, and wood for the grave markers. They don’t know the funeral rituals for this part of the continent but it’s generally accepted that some marking is appreciated and though they won’t know the names of those killed, they’ll at least know their final resting place. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When the pit is dug, they go door to door and collect the dead. Jaskier waits outside with Roach while Geralt takes some linen from his arms and heads inside to wrap the bodies. When he emerges, he lays his bundles across Roach’s back and they head to the next house. When Roach can carry no more, they take them to the grave and lay them to rest. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In total there are twenty three adults and twelve children. Geralt had made sure to count. They lay together in the pit, a mass of stained linen and incoherent shapes. Jaskier makes himself look now, makes himself see what the world often hides from him, the reality of not only Geralt’s profession, but of the unfairness of the gods. These people did not deserve to die. They </span>
  <em>
    <span>shouldn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> have died. Jaskier understands more and more why Geralt believes only in himself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He helps when Geralt begins pushing dirt back in the grave, taking up a shovel and doing his part. It’s backbreaking work and his hands begin to bleed partway through from the rough-hewn handle of the shovel. He doesn’t stop, though, doesn’t pause, uses all the energy and strength and life he still has to give these poor people some decency in their death. The smell of fresh earth and rotting flesh sticks to his nose and he’s not sure he’ll ever forget it, but at least he’s alive to remember.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They sleep on the hillside across from the grave and Jaskier doesn’t dream. Geralt doesn’t come close, doesn’t lay at his side like normal, just rests against Roach and meditates with his eyes closed. Jaskier won’t press him though, knows it will do no good. Whatever Geralt is dealing with in his mind, he deserves the space to do it on his own. At least for tonight.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The next day they board up the houses, hoping to keep any enterprising thieves from taking the unattended spoils of this town. He can’t imagine anyone wanting to go into any of these homes with the blood all over the floors but Geralt assures him that many have neither respect nor fear of the dead and would take whatever they could. They latch up the shutters and nail boards to the doors. They make sure to tend to any cattle and horses that weren’t slaughtered and do what they can to clear any debris or overturned carts from the streets of the town. There are no noises beyond their own making, no birds, no dogs, no people. It’s a long end to an already long afternoon.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They don’t spend another night there and instead push through the night to make it to the next town over. Geralt talks to the local regent, informs him of what happened and of what they had done and Jaskier feels a weight lift off his shoulders. They don’t have to carry this alone, now. Not when the regent begins assembling a retinue to go to the town with him. He wants to see what was done to his people with his own eyes, take care of what he can. Jaskier worries for a moment that he and Geralt will be questioned for their part in this, but something in Geralt’s voice, in his demeanor, must convince the regent because he offers them room and money for their troubles instead, as thanks for what they’ve done. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, thank you.” Geralt replies and Jaskier has to work to keep the surprise off his face. The regent doesn’t bother to do the same. “With all due respect, my lord, I simply wish to leave.” The regent watches him for a long steady moment and sees what Jaskier does as well, a tired man, a grieving man, a man who was failed by the world and left standing alone. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Very well.” He says, not unkindly. “You may go. General, see to it that they have provisions for the road, and a horse for the bard.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They leave after that and ride for the rest of the day. Jaskier is thankful for the horse. His fingers ache from shoveling and his feet are numb from their labor and he can’t imagine how Geralt feels but he doesn’t ask, doesn’t press. When they stop it’s to pull their horses into the woods and away from the road, spending nearly an hour finding a secluded clearing near a stream. It’s a luxury Jaskier appreciates as he sinks his hands into the cold water, rubbing dirt and blood and grime with careful strokes of his thumbs. When he returns with a bucket of the water, Geralt has already built them a fire and set up their bedrolls. He’s reorganizing his pack in silence when Jaskier returns. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This time, Jaskier doesn’t let the silence sit. He knows the other will need time, lots of it, but if he leaves him alone he will drift away, he will lock himself up in his mental tower and punish himself for things he wasn’t able to do. Geralt is a man of many talents but self forgiveness wasn’t one of them so if he wouldn’t do it, Jaskier would. “Give me your hands.” He says as he sits in front of the other, the pail of cold water next to him. He pulls the pack out of Geralt’s hand, ignoring the low growl he gets in return, and digs into it until he can pull out one of his own kerchiefs. He dips it in the water then reaches out a hand, finally looking up to meet Geralt’s eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He looks livid, eyes dark and nostrils flared. If Jaskier weren’t more concerned for Geralt than he was for himself, he’d remember to be afraid of that look. Instead he just reaches forward and gently slides his fingers under Geralt’s hand, holding his eyes the whole time. Something pinches around the witcher’s eyes and Jaskier is afraid he’s going to pull away but after a moment he relents and let’s Jaskier ease them close. They’re shaking but Jaskier doesn’t point that out. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The wounds on his hands are worse than he’d thought. They were covered by gloves when they talked to the regent but now they are bare and just as broken up as Jaskier’s, maybe worse. There are splits in the skin from digging and there is mud and grime caked around his nails and into the pads of his fingers. He has a feeling it’s more than just that. They must ache, even for a witcher, with the state they’re in, so Jaskier is gentle as he wipes them down. By the time he’s done, the bucket is murky with filthy water and the rag is forever stained, but his hands are clean. They still tremble, but they’re clean.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Up.” He tells Geralt, standing himself and using his grip on the other’s hands to pull him up. “We’re going to wash off in the lake.” There is no room for argument there. It is a fact that Geralt doesn’t have the wherewithal to refuse so he stands and they strip and Jaskier lays their clothes aside before guiding him into the water. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s freezing but he doesn’t mind it, allowing the cold water to come up to his chest as he tugs Geralt to the deepest part of the stream. His muscles ache so bad from their work and their travels that when the cold water hit’s his sore body, he can’t help the deep sigh that pushes from his lungs. He drops Geralt’s hands so he can stretch his out his own, closing his eyes and letting himself just float. It’s a blessing, he realizes, to feel so weightless after all they’ve seen, to feel not the gravel, or the wind, or the earth. Just the cold water and his heartbeat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When he opens his eyes again, Geralt is turned away and has his eyes closed and his head bowed. It looks like he’s slipped his head under, though, since his hair is wet and sticking to his shoulders. Jaskier allows himself to look before he floats over to him, sliding his hands up Geralt’s back then down over his shoulders and chest. He links his hands and hugs himself to the other’s back, resting his cheek on his skin and closing his eyes. “You’re a good man, Geralt of Rivia.” He murmurs, lips brushing his skin. “You’re a good man, who does good things in a bad world and sometimes the monsters win. But that doesn’t make you less good.” He feels calloused, broad hands slide up to rest over his own. Geralt’s back expands as he takes in a deep, broken breath and Jaskier turns his palm upwards to link their fingers. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They stay in the water until Jaskier is too cold, then return to their camp, drying off by the fire. They lay out both their bedrolls side by side and Jaskier is able to coax Geralt into resting with little resistance. He feels hope, for the first time in days, and as Geralt pulls him close and shuts his eyes to sleep, he knows they’ll be alright. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Sometimes you just gotta write angst ¯\_(ツ)_/¯</p>
<p>Find me on tumblr @ <a href="https://www.ticktockclockwork.tumblr.com">ticktockclockwork</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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